Lord of Light lite
by Bergman22
Summary: An abstract retelling of some of the plot of "Lord of Light"


A/N: I would like to be considered as a Beta Reader if anyone should need it, so I am writing a series of five very short stories. They probably aren't my best work, but you could look at them to see if you might want me Beta-ing for you.

1st story: An abridged, abstract version of "Lord of Light", by Roger Zelazny. Go out and read it if you haven't already. It is a book that I wish I could read again for the first time.

* * *

The Man hiked up the jagged path, and the Disciple followed.

"How long before we reach the top? the disciple asked.

"Not much further now," the man replied.

The disciple trusted the man, trusted him in a bond forged through countless days, weeks, months under the lotus leaves. For the disciple had defied gods of flesh and metal, of false faith and materialism to sit under those leaves.

This was never his original intention, but life only blossoms in the fractions of a second when we close our eyes to blink. A corded rope of sacred silk was held static in front of the disciples' eyes for many lifetimes, only to be discarded for a yellow robe in a second of choice.

The man, for his part, had never really thought of himself as worthy of such adoration. He was an object of worship to many, a hated enemy to a few, and a cipher to all. Of course, he didn't think of the Gods as worthy of adoration, either. Thus his status as an enemy.

He continued upward toward his destination.

They passed the trip in silence.

oOoOoOoOo

As they wound around the mountain, the man and his disciple encountered an obstacle. A stream cut the path in half, and continued roaring down the mountain. The disciple motioned to his master, and, with a great burst of strength, threw him across the stream.

He was ready to make the leap himself, when a figure appeared further down the path, gaining rapidly. The disciple halted, turned his back to the stream, and waited.

The man continued on his way, sparing a sad glance behind him.

The figure grew larger and larger in the distance, never hurrying from his walk, but moving much faster than a man should.

Disappearing and reappearing from view as he rounded corners, the figure steadily gained ground. He turned the final corner, and faced the disciple.

Yama the God of Death had been sent to capture the heretic, the man who would fight against Heaven. He looked into the disciple's eyes with a gaze that could sap the life from the strongest man, but the disciple did not falter. He met Yama's eyes, and proclaimed:

"Come at me with your magic, your science, and your swordsmanship, death god, but you shall not pass."

Yama dropped his cloak and drew his sword with laughter dancing in his eyes. It was far more chilling than the sharp gaze he adopted before, more foreboding.

The disciple readied his weapon likewise. The two men prepared to do battle.

Their swords met in a cacophony of steel, dancing, flickering like fireflies at dusk. The death god pressed the disciple hard, but could not penetrate the holy bath that still protected the disciple's skin. Backing away in surprise, the god dropped his guard for the briefest of moments, and the first blood drawn was his.

Dismissing swords, Yama lunged at the disciple and dragged him into the river. While a unique baptism had guarded the life of the disciple thus far, the god of death intended for a more traditional one to end it.

Minutes passed, filled with curses that were trapped in bubbles and released into the air. The water churned as the two warriors did battle below.

Eventually the water calmed, and it was the god of death who emerged. Pausing for a brief second to nod his head to the fallen warrior, Yama continued up the path after his quarry.

But he had to walk at a far brisker pace than he had anticipated.

oOoOoOoOo

At the top of the mountain, the man had reached his destination. He was facing a wrought-iron door, massive and imposing, set stone of the mountain itself. It was a door abandoned and cursed by the gods.

The man stared at the door, endless moments drifting away. Some switch flipped, some trigger pulled, some lever moved in his mind.

Grinning, he walked toward the door, and pressed his hand against a nondescript section of the door. The man contorted his hand into a series of strange gestures, and something in the door _clicked._

Moving more hastily now, the man grabbed a protruding ring and pulled the door open just a fraction of the way. Ignoring the rush of hot air that escaped as the door inched open, the man slipped inside and grabbed another ring on the opposite side of the door.

Arresting its momentum, the man pulled the door closed with great effort. The door clicked again, locking the man inside.

The man, known to the world as Mahasamatman, Siddhartha, and the Lord of Light, known to his friends as Sam, descended into the mountain, toward a great host of flame and light below.

oOoOoOoOo

Yama reached the top of the mountain, and saw it empty. Moving to check the door, he saw scuff marks that indicated it had been recently opened. Smiling to himself, Yama began descending the mountain, to make his report to his peers in Heaven.

* * *

As you can probably guess, I have trouble with back-and-forth dialogue. Hence, this pretentiously descriptive story. If you have not read the book, this fic probably wouldn't have made much sense. It was meant to be a sort of a fairy tale, a compressed retelling of part of the plot of the original book. Sorry about that, but I wrote it more to showcase my strengths and make progress on getting qualified to Beta.


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